


Speaking Isn't Easy

by Kale-y (PechoraFlow)



Series: Promptober 2020 [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: "Graphic Violence" translation: I wrote something violent, Angry Happy, BAMF Edwin Jarvis, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, IVE BEEN WANTING TO WRITE THIS FOREVER, Iron Dad, Mafia AU, Might have to wait until part 2 to see them, No beta we die like nem, No gore in this one but there are gunshots, Part 1, Peter Parker Whump, Protective Tony Stark, Rated T for language and that's literally it, Really almost the whole gang is going to show up either in person or as a cameo, Sexualize this and I steal your eyelids, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, but they're there, lets go, okay okay i'll stop, sry i dont make the rules, what is a mafia au if it doesn't have gunshots tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26750317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PechoraFlow/pseuds/Kale-y
Summary: Tony Stark is one of New York's crime bosses, but when he develops a soft spot for local newsie, Peter Parker, the teenager suddenly finds himself the center of unwanted attention. Tony takes him in for his own safety, but when their casual friendship turns into something more familial, is Peter actually safer than he was before?---Prompt: DraggedStarting out with a good one ;)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Promptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947931
Comments: 28
Kudos: 131





	Speaking Isn't Easy

New York City, 1933

Tony was never scared; he couldn't afford to be, not in his line of work. He had to be always sure of himself, giving orders like he could see the future and had a backup plan in place in case anything went wrong. His persona was what made his employees trust in him.

And in the criminal world, trust was worth its weight in gold.

Being the don of the Stark family had become less of a burden over the years. With Happy and Pepper’s help, he had grown both his legitimate and illegitimate businesses - the former being a chain of restaurants in New York City and beyond, and the latter being more... _secretive._

The pressure didn’t come from the work, per se. No, it was the danger that came with his last name.

Too many times had he been targeted for an assassination (presumably by the Rogers Gang in Brooklyn). A few years ago, they had almost succeeded, blowing up the car he had been riding in. By some sheer miracle, he had escaped with his life (and a chest full of shrapnel, but he didn’t have the best surgeon on his payroll for nothing). His shoulder still hurt from time to time, but it was manageable.

Despite being good at his job, and despite _liking_ being good at his job, he never actually liked the position. Too many times had he lost friends to business killings - the first loss being his parents, then finding out that his own consigliere, Obadiah Stane, had set up their deaths with the Hydra gang in Jersey. And then, once he had replaced Stane with Yinsen, Yinsen had died, too.

Over the years, there had been _far too many_ close calls with the people he loved the most. Pepper, being the face of his legitimate business, was often a target. Happy, being his bodyguard and most trusted advisor, had actually been put in the hospital just last year. Rhodey was the only one really safe, as he wore the navy blue of the NYPD. Business hits never touched the police - no one wanted to attract the ire of an entire precinct. Despite the late Commissioner T’Chaka’s best efforts, the crime families of New York were tolerated by most officers...until one of their own was caught in the crossfire.

So, naturally, he had first tried to keep his distance from the newsboy that he bumped into every morning. Anyone that was seen with Tony had a target on their back, and he hated the thought that anything bad could happen to him.

However, as the weeks passed, he couldn’t help but get to know him.

His name was Peter. He only started selling newspapers because he needed to help his aunt with the bills, though he would have liked to spend the time at his friend Edward’s apartment, putting together wooden models of some sort. He liked to work with his hands, creating something and carefully adding detail to it in order to “give it personality”. He liked to help people, often times giving the lunch his aunt had packed him to whoever looked like they needed it more than he did.

It may have started with one-off conversations, but then Tony heard that this child, whose guardian didn’t have enough money for food, was _giving away_ food when he had it.

“Okay, that’s it,” he had said. He grabbed Peter’s shirtsleeve, ignoring the coarse and worn texture of the cheap fabric (for now).

“Wha- _Mr. Stark-”_

“I’m the owner of several restaurants in Manhattan,” Tony interrupted, dragging a flustered Peter along behind him. “I think I can afford to make sure my favorite newsboy has a good lunch.”

“Mr. Stark, I can’t ask-”

“And I’ll send a meal home with you so you and your aunt can have dinner together.”

After that, Peter changed his tone, going from arguing to profuse gratitude in a split second. Tony waved it off, but a nice, solid feeling took hold of his chest.

Tony marched him into his restaurant and had taken him to the private table he kept for himself. Peter had gawked at the decor, then asked in a small voice if he was allowed in while dressed like he was. Tony reiterated that it was _he_ who made the rules, and all of the people in the restaurant were staring at them because he was famous, not because of Peter’s fashion sense. “Trust me, kid, they probably will forget you were here as soon as we leave.”

He had thought that was the case.

He was wrong.

A week later, on a rainy Tuesday morning, Peter wasn’t on the street corner he was usually on.

Tony tried to ignore this (after all, it would make sense for Peter to not be selling newspapers in the rain even though he usually did it anyway), but as he went about his day, he kept wondering about what Peter was doing.

Eventually, Happy had gotten sick of him “moping around" all day and had driven him home, then set out to find the kid himself. Tony had protested, saying that he didn’t _need_ to know what had happened to Peter, but he knew that Happy picked up on the relief that he was trying to hide.

His bodyguard returned two hours later, a drenched Peter at his side.

The kid’s eyes had been red and puffy, his gaze glassy and glued to the floor. He stared at nothing, and his lungs hitched with every inhale.

Tony had instantly taken him in, ordering Jarvis to go get towels and clothes that might fit Peter. Happy filled him in on his half of the story, walking behind them as Tony guided the unresponsive Peter into the living room so that he could sit by the fire and warm up.

Happy had managed to track down Peter’s home address by asking some of the newsboys, who had directed him to a small home in Queens. When he found the place, Happy had walked up to the front door and knocked, but the door swung open. Suspicious, he went inside, and in the corner sat Peter Parker. Lying on the floor was a woman, covered in blood.

“He killed her,” Peter whispered. It was the first time he had spoken anything all night.

Tony knelt in front of Peter, taking the boy’s already calloused hands in his slightly smoother ones. “What happened? Who killed her?”

“He killed my Aunt May,” Peter said. He looked up, staring Tony in the eye. He looked haunted, his form hunched and eyes still watery even though he must have spent the whole day in grief. “He wore a black suit, had a hood up, a black mask, used... He used... He used a sh-sh-short sword... or-or maybe a long knife.”

Happy’s face set in a grimace. “Ronin.”

Tony’s heart stuttered in his chest. He gripped Peter by the shoulders. “Peter? Listen carefully to me, kiddo. Do you know if he was after you?”

Happy caught on to what Tony was worried about, if the way he stiffened was any indicator. Peter frowned. “I...I don’t know. I just saw him leave.”

Tony ran a hand down the length of his face, trying to keep up with his mind when it was running at several hundred miles an hour. “Alright...alright. We’ll find a next-of-kin that is outside of New York - maybe even off the East Coast. He shouldn’t track you-”

“I don’t have any,” Peter interrupted, his voice soft.

Tony frowned. “Any what?”

“Next of kin,” Peter said. “I don’t have any.”

“Pretty sure that’s biologically impossible, kid,” Tony said.

“Not when they’re all dead.” Peter looked away again, staring at the flickering flames in the fireplace.

Tony stood, beginning to pace around the lavishly decorated living room. Happy stayed by the kid’s side, but he continued to watch his boss with narrowed eyes.

Everyone knew Ronin worked with Rogers. Somehow, he must have found out about Peter - specifically, how much he enjoyed the kid’s company. But why kill the kid’s aunt?

Damn it, he was supposed to be _safe_. He was supposed to avoid all of the danger that came with knowing Tony Stark - he just bought the kid lunch one time (well, maybe twice, but it wasn’t like he had a newsy on his payroll).

Alright. If staying away from Peter wouldn’t keep him safe, perhaps taking him in would.

And so, he turned back to Peter and presented his case. He had personal security, he had food on the table every night, and he could pay for Peter to be taught and housed and clothed. He wouldn’t have to work again, if he really wanted.

At this, some sense of shock and awareness showed on Peter’s face - good. Anything was better than that blank look that was so distinctly _not Peter_.

From there, it went as it always did. Peter argued about taking advantage of Tony’s hospitality. Tony interrupted and pointed out how Peter had nowhere else to go, and one of New York’s deadliest assassins could still be hunting him. (He left out the part about it maybe being his fault, because Peter would leave him and then he’d be _out there and alone with no protection whatsoever_ -)

Perhaps somewhat reluctantly, Peter agreed to stay. Tony sent for his lawyers (and for Rhodey, just because he wanted him to meet the kid), and told Jarvis to go ahead and prepare the guest room for Peter.

* * *

Tony had decided a long time ago that he didn’t want kids. He took a look around his house - his _father’s_ house, where Tony had lived a miserable and lonely childhood - and had decided that he simply couldn’t see any kids living there and enjoying it.

But over the next few months, as Tony got to know Peter and vice versa, and as they began to feel more comfortable around each other, Tony decided that perhaps he had been too quick to make that choice.

The first few weeks, Peter had been quiet. His thoughts were always on May, on everything he had lost. In turn, Tony had been practically vibrating with nervous energy, knowing that he was guilty for drawing attention to the Parkers yet also knowing there was little else he could do for Peter. He would repeat his promise as often as necessary for Peter to realize that he was _always_ going to have a home, and food, and clothes, and a warm bed, and access to the latest technology. Never would he want anything ever again.

Tony tried to ignore the fact that Peter only wanted one thing, and he couldn’t give her back to him.

After the grief eased, Peter started becoming more and more of himself again, exploring the house and reading the untouched books in Tony’s study. As often as Tony renewed his promise, Peter expressed his gratitude. He must have gotten tired of saying it, because he simply switched to throwing his arms around Tony in a hug (that lasted _much_ too long, but Tony never pushed him away).

Eventually, he was back to his old self again. When Tony came back home from a day of trying to figure out how to stop the Rogers Gang from targeting their bootleggers, Peter would give him a hug and offer to play a game of chess before they went to sleep. He would practically vibrate with excitement every Friday night, when they went to the cinema.

There were still nights where Tony would wake up in the middle of the night. He would head downstairs to finish some work in his study, and on the way, he would see Peter, sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, looking at it with a tearstained face. And Tony would sit with him, an arm around his kid’s shoulders as they leaned against each other, content to be silent together. Usually, they fell asleep like that, and woke the next morning with sore limbs and joints.

As the weeks passed, Tony found himself growing closer and more attached to Peter than he had anticipated. Sure, he knew Peter was kind, but he didn’t know that the kid was considerate to the point of being negligent about his own wellbeing.

“Pretty sure looking after me is _your_ job, Mr. Stark,” Peter had said, a grin on his face.

He also hadn’t known that Peter loved reading. His uncle, Ben, had taught him, but he passed several years ago. He and Aunt May had been too poor to buy books, so he read and sold newspapers to get in the practice. After shyly admitting that he wasn’t very good with reading aloud, Tony had decided to sit down with his charge and have him read at least once a week.

And so began their tradition of spending Sunday afternoon in Tony’s study, putting pillows down on the floor in the corner and leaning against each other. Peter would read whatever book he had been reading that week out loud, and Tony would card his fingers through his kid’s curls, occasionally helping if Peter got stuck.

It was nice.

But now, holding the papers in his hand, Tony felt like it was...more _real._

He hadn’t asked Peter yet. And the kid could always say no and they would just keep this going for as long as Peter wanted... But he had to ask.

Sliding the crisp, unsigned adoption papers into his briefcase, he shut the lid. He stayed still for a moment, drumming his fingers on the top of his desk.

What if Peter said “no”? Would it ruin what they had now? Would he ever feel comfortable around Tony, knowing the man saw him as...as a _son_?

A knock on the door of his office stopped the thoughts rushing through his head. He smiled - Peter was the only one who ever knocked. Jarvis and Happy always just came in whenever they had something to report.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Peter poked his head in. “Are you ready?”

“Yep,” Tony said, standing up and smoothing out his blazer. Happy had always hated how he chose to dress - said something about being too recognizable. Well, if a black blazer, red vest, and gold tie made him recognizable, then it was doing its job. People tended to watch what they were saying when they knew who he was. “You ready?”

“Yep!” Peter himself wore the suit Tony had bought him a few weeks ago. A simple black one - Peter had looked horrified at the thought of wearing something more eye-catching.

Tony moved to the door and ruffled his kid’s hair as he walked past.

“Wha- _Tony!”_

“Is that… _gel_?"

“I was just... Jarvis gave me some. I wanted to try it.” Peter actually looked a little flustered at the attention; he wouldn’t meet Tony’s eyes and curled in on himself a little.

Tony gave him a look that he hoped conveyed just how much he disagreed with his choice to sacrifice his curls for the sake of a trend. “Yeah. Nope. Sorry, kiddo, your hair deserves to be fluffy.”

“It’s not _fluffy,_ it just...has volume,” Peter muttered.

“Whatever you say, kiddo,” Tony said, ruffling Peter’s hair further. “C’mon - we don’t want to keep Happy waiting.”

* * *

They drove through the city, the weight of the briefcase heavier than it should be on his lap. How could a few sheets of paper be so heavy?

Peter talked about anything and everything, from the movie they had seen last night to the latest thing he had read and his thoughts on it. He mentioned wanting to learn other languages, he mentioned wanting to return to woodworking, and he mentioned wanting to do some reading into biology next week. Tony chimed in with questions or jokes here and there, but he didn’t really ramble as he usually did.

Peter must have picked up on his discomfort. “Hey, is everything...? Do you want me to stop talking? ‘Cause I can, if you have a headache or something-”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Tony said, sliding the briefcase onto the floor. “Just thinking.”

“About Mr. Rogers?”

“Uh...no. Something else. And hey, don’t worry about Rogers, kiddo. You’re never gonna see him, okay?”

“Okay."

The sheer amount of trust in that one word filled Tony’s chest. He tried not to show on his expression how much of a sap he was, but Peter could probably tell anyways.

“Where are we going?” Peter asked, switching the topic.

Tony glanced over at his charge, then slung an arm around the kid’s shoulders and tucked him securely into his side. “Dinner.”

"I know that.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“Ever been to a speakeasy, kid?”

* * *

Tony stepped out of the car in front of his favorite establishment with his briefcase in hand, then helped Peter out of the car. Peter looked around, confused. “Why are we going in the side entrance?”

“Attention,” Tony said, putting his arm back around Peter and starting to walk into the speakeasy. “Control where the attention is, and you can sneak anything past everyone.”

“You? Trying to avoid attention?” Peter snarked.

Tony casually ruffled Peter’s hair, causing the kid to squirm and protest.

As soon as they walked into the restaurant, however, Peter fell silent.

The Starks were known for glamor and scale; Tony’s home was sixteen rooms too big, to say the least, and his restaurants were renowned for their grandeur.

The speakeasy Tony had reserved, _The Tiger Lily,_ was something of a crown jewel in the Stark empire. With three floors of seating, rich maroon carpets, a polished dance floor made of birchwood, and walls painted yellow and adorned with gold detailing, it stunned every guest, every time. A large stage framed by scarlet curtains provided a platform for the hired musicians. Chandeliers glistened throughout the space. Candles were lit at every table. Fresh flowers were brought in every day and crafted into new arrangements.

And that didn’t even include the menu.

“Tony…” Peter whispered, frozen in disbelief.

Tony grinned. “Peter Parker? Speechless? Well, now I know I’ve really done something.”

Peter’s surprise slowly morphed into discomfort. “Are you… Where is everyone?”

“Nowhere," Tony said, moving deeper into the speakeasy. “I closed early. It’s just you and me, kiddo.”

“Oh.” It was hard to tell if that made Peter more or less nervous.

“C’mon,” Tony said. He beckoned for Peter to follow him. “I called ahead. Dinner’s waiting.”

Tony led Peter through the tables, toward a booth in the back that was both out of sight yet allowed for those seated to see the entire speakeasy. Apart from a lone bartender and a few musicians on the stage, they were alone.

Setting the briefcase on the floor beside him, Tony took a seat at the booth, and Peter numbly followed suit.

Happy emerged from the side door that Tony and Peter had come out of, making a beeline for their table. At the same moment, Jarvis exited the kitchen, a tray balanced expertly between a hand and a shoulder.

Jarvis reached the table first, snapping Peter out of his trance. “Jarvis? You don’t… Do you work here?”

“Mister Stark asked that I be the one to serve this evening, Peter,” Jarvis replied, sliding their food in front of them.

“What can I say?” Tony chimed in. “Good help and all that.”

“Enjoy your meal, sir,” Jarvis said. Then, he turned, and as he walked away, he ruffled Peter’s hair.

“ _No-_ Not you too!”

Tony hid his grin.

Happy finally reached the table. “Got guys at every entrance and exit. Nobody’s getting in.”

“Thanks, Happy. What would I do without you?”

Happy didn’t even hesitate. “Die.”

“Probably," Tony conceded.

"Let me know when you two are getting ready to leave,” Happy said, then turned to go back the way he came. On his way, he ruffled Peter’s hair.

“Stop- _cut it out!”_

Tony chuckled, not even bothering to hide it. Peter’s cheeks reddened. Before the kid could say anything, Tony pointed at the food. “Eat now, talk later.”

Despite Tony’s instructions, Peter still only made it through a few bites before he was back to his usual chattering self, talking about whatever idea he had earlier or talking about a moment with May or Ben. Tony finished his food long before Peter, but he didn’t point it out, content to simply sit and listen.

It wasn’t until they had finished their meal that Peter started to look uneasy again, only this time, he had found his words. “Mr. Stark…are you getting rid of me?”

Peter wasn’t looking up at Tony when he asked, so he didn’t notice the shocked expression on his face or the way the man straightened in alarm. “What- Peter, how could you-?”

As if a psychological dam broke, Peter poured out his thoughts. “It’s just that we usually stay at home to eat and if we do go out it’s not all fancy like this and I noticed how you have been acting all weird for the past few hours and I know I talk too much and that I still cry too often but I can change, I can do better-”

“Stop. Just, stop,” Tony interrupted.

Peter wilted, curling in on himself slightly.

Ignoring the voice in his head that taunted him with Peter’s rejection, Tony reached down and grabbed his briefcase. He saw the way Peter’s eyes instantly latched onto it.

He wanted to tell him everything - how much he enjoyed it when Peter talked about his day, how much he valued Peter’s laugh - but Starks were never known for emotion. Instead, he simply clicked open the briefcase and pulled out the paperwork, gingerly offering it to Peter.

The kid took the papers in his hands, his nervous energy causing his fingers to fidget.

Tony waited, watching Peter read the paper…

Then read it again…

Finally, Peter looked up. “You… You want to _adopt_ me?"

Tony’s heartbeat tripled its speed. “Well, I… You already eat me out of house and home. Figured we’d...make it official. But if that isn’t what you want, then that’s fine, we can just-”

Tony was cut off, the breath nearly knocked out of his lungs as Peter threw his arms around him. Something in Tony’s chest ballooned at Peter’s reaction, and he returned the hug with as much force and happiness. The kid’s hands shook against Tony’s shoulders.

“I thought…” Peter said, his voice watery.

He sniffled by Tony’s ear, and there were probably tear stains on his blazer, but Tony couldn’t bring himself to care. He simply tightened his arms around his kid.

_His kid._

“You realize this means I can ruffle your hair whenever I want,” Tony joked, his voice as unsteady as Peter’s.

The kid laughed. “So nothing different, then."

Tony smiled to himself as a bud of peace and warmth grew in his chest. “Nothing different."

* * *

Once the papers were signed, Jarvis reemerged with champagne and dessert, which Tony insisted he partake in. Though Jarvis wouldn’t sit, he did join them for a toast.

Peter never stopped smiling, his eyes alight and his posture easy. It was infectious - even Jarvis smiled a few times.

The night was perfect.

Finally, once they were done with dinner, they stood by the side door and waited for Happy to come and get them.

Peter leaned against Tony, his expression content. Tony rubbed the kid’s arm in response, pressing a kiss to his hair.

The side door opened, and Happy poked his head into the room. “Car’s here.”

Peter straightened, alert. He had always done this - any time they were in public, he’d turn on what Tony dubbed his “sixth sense”, as if he could detect danger before it happened. He suspected it was something Peter had picked up from working on the streets.

“We’re fine, kiddo,” Tony said, starting to walk with Peter out of _The Tiger Lily_ and into the alley, where the car was waiting. “Happy’s already swept the area.”

“I know,” Peter said, but he didn’t say anything else, instead scanning the rooftops and ends of the alley.

They weren’t even halfway down the stairs when Peter tensed. In a split second, he moved in front of Tony.

_BANG. BANG._

Peter jerked and crumpled, and in an instant, everyone was moving.

Tony grabbed Peter and pulled, hauling him back into the speakeasy. He shut the side door behind them, hearing the sound of gunfire just beyond the thin barrier.

Peter groaned, and all of Tony’s attention was pulled back to his kid. “Pete- Peter, _what the fuck-”_

“There was...something on the rooftop, across the street,” Peter grunted. “And I didn’t recognize...one of your guys - the one at the end of the alley. He...reached in his coat, so I moved.”

“You complete and utter dumbass,” Tony hissed, frantically unbuttoning Peter’s jacket so that he could see what the damage was. “You’re grounded. Officially, legally, eternally grounded.”

Tony accidentally jostled Peter, eliciting a sharp cry from the teen.

“My…shoulder,” Peter managed, ignoring Tony’s threat but picking up on what he was trying to do. “And...my knee, so I can’t…can't stand up.”

“Alright,” Tony said, snatching a rag from a nearby wine container. “Okay. Okay. You're okay. Hold this to your shoulder and don’t stop until I come back.”

Peter did as he was told, despite the confusion clearly evident on his expression. “Where- _gah!_ ” He curled in on himself, but pressed the cloth on his shoulder as instructed.

“I'm going back out,” Tony said, unbuttoning his own blazer so that he could easily access his own pistol. “If Happy’s on his own, he needs backup. You stay here, we’ll deal with whoever’s out there, and then we’ll get you straight to a hospital. Okay? Can you hold on for a few more minutes?”

Peter nodded, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.

Turning away from Peter was _physically painful,_ as if he had to break some sort of invisible tether. Leaving his kid behind, _injured and bleeding from protecting him…_ It went against every bone in his body.

But if Peter was right, and one of his own guys had pulled a gun on him, then who knew how many guys were _actually_ there to protect him. Happy could be on his own, for all he knew.

Tony stood and felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked back and saw Jarvis, apron on and dressed as crisply as ever, but also carrying a double barrel shotgun. “I will look after the young sir,” he said, snapping the gun shut so that there were rounds in the chambers.

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Tony said, putting as much genuine sentiment as he could into a simple few words. The butler nodded, and Tony ducked out of the room, leaving Peter in Jarvis’s care.

Tony took in the scene in a matter of seconds. The car was scratched and dented, glass shattered from bullets and mirrors no longer attached to the car. The doors were open, acting as cover for Happy and a few others. One of them went down and Tony saw his chance, jumping to take his spot.

Happy gave him a look that was half incredulous, half pissed. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

“Happy, dearest, have you ever known me to be a sane and thoughtful person?” Tony countered, sending return shots towards their attackers.

"What about Peter?” Happy asked, yelling over the gunfire.

“Jarvis has him,” Tony yelled back. “We get this wrapped up and go straight to the hospital, and he’ll be okay.”

“Not bad, then?”

Tony’s mind went back to seeing Happy in the hospital, unresponsive for weeks on end. His mind went to Pepper, in danger of bleeding out…

They were both okay, now, but the memories of how bad it had been, how close they had come…

“Not too bad,” Tony responded, "so long as we finish this up.”

Happy looked like he wanted to argue, but he thought better of it and turned his attention back to the fight at hand.

The fight only lasted a few minutes, but it was fairly evenly matched. Tony was only certain that he had taken down one guy before the gunfire suddenly ceased.

Tony glanced over at Happy, who was wearing an expression of equal confusion.

 _Reloading?_ Tony mouthed, to which Happy shrugged.

Tony peeked over the car door he was using as cover, trying to see if he could spot them…

No one was there.

Happy motioned for Tony to stay by the car as he crept forward, revolver at the ready. Tony stayed, deciding that it would be better for him to let Happy do his job than to insist on coming with and receiving a lecture later.

Upon reaching the end of the alleyway, Happy turned around, holstering his weapon. “They're gone.”

Tony frowned. _“Gone?”_

“I don’t like it either,” Happy said, picking up the pace and hurrying back to the car. He pointed at one of his guys. “Johnny, go bring another car around."

Tony glanced at his Rolls Royce and grimaced. He had plenty of cars, but losing one was always a tragedy. The windows were completely shattered, the lights were shot out, and the tires were flat. Bullet holes peppered the exterior of the car, rendering it almost irreparable. It would almost certainly be cheaper to replace-

A muffled _BANG_ stopped Tony’s train of thought in its tracks. 

He made eye contact with Happy, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, but as soon as he saw the fear on his bodyguard’s face, he was moving, running back into the restaurant through the side door.

Dimly, he registered Happy behind him, but he didn’t acknowledge him. He was too busy trying to take in the scene in front of him.

Jarvis stood, leaning heavily on a nearby table. His shotgun was empty, and a trail of blood trickled from his forehead down his jawline.

“Jarvis, where’s Peter?” Tony asked shakily, but whether the tone was from his fear or from barely restrained anger, he couldn’t tell.

The butler lost the battle against gravity and fell on one knee, then sat back in defeat. “He was here. He took him,” Jarvis said.

“Who took Peter?” Happy pressed.

Jarvis looked up, equal parts exhausted and ashamed. “Ronin.”

**Author's Note:**

> PART 2: DAY 8 - FRAIL
> 
> Let me know if you guys like this AU! I'm kind of uncertain about it...


End file.
